She really didn't see it. “Mouse, you're so fucking hot.” He led her outside and pushed her up against the wall.
She smiled and shook her head. “I'm anything but that. That girl who was hitting on you is hot.”
“Coked up bunny boilers, who open their legs for anyone who looks in their direction, are never hot.” He ran his fingers through her hair.
Mouse pushed him away, and reached into the inside pocket of his cut. “Bit sexist, Nitro.” She pulled out his smokes. “Maybe she just enjoys sex. And no doubt you've fucked her.”
He wasn't going to deny it. “Not ever gonna happen again.”
He loved her smile, loved how comfortable she was in her own skin. He loved that she challenged him, loved her prickles. He loved how smart she was, and that if he fucked up, she wouldn't hesitate in telling him. Nitro bent and kissed her. “I really do love you, punk. Wanna make things official—put my mark on ya,”
“Would you do it?”
“Of course.” Mouse was the only woman he knew without any ink, and he'd been worried that she was going to refuse. “I'm pretty good.”
She took a deep breath. “Is it a specific design, or can I choose?”
“Usually, the ol' ladies have their man's name, but as long as it marks you as mine, it doesn't matter what you have.”
“I'm not going to be your property, biker boy.”
Nitro lit his cigarette. “I know. You're your own woman, punk. An' I'll have one too. It's just tradition, is all. You don't have to, but I'd really like it if you did.”
“Did your exes wear your ink?”
“Nope. I put a ring on them, but I guess I knew, deep down, that it wasn't gonna last.”
She snagged his lighter and lit her own cigarette. “I'll think about it.”
19
So this was the clubhouse.
It was more refined than she'd expected, and she had to wonder whether anyone there knew the value of the William Morris tiles on the huge fireplace, or that a salvage yard would pay good money for the door fittings. Shit, even the old gas lamps were still in place.
Like many buildings in Bristol, it had been built into the side of a steep hill, which meant that what was the first floor at the front of the building was the ground floor at the back, and huge French windows led out onto a scrubby, terraced garden that she imagined, back in its prime, had been beautiful. Almost all of the floor space had been opened up, with only a couple of doors leading to—she guessed—smaller rooms to one side of the building. There was wide staircase that led up to further floors on the opposite side, and stunning stained glass windows gave the whole space a golden glow as the last of the sunlight filled the room.
The cheap bar, with its melamine top, and the posters adorning the walls, were at complete odds with the original features, as was the pub furniture, pinball machine and pool table, which all looked as though they had been around since the Sixties. And no one should ever have been allowed to daub a huge, gold and red, two-headed viper on the chimney breast above that beautiful fireplace. Mouse guessed that The Freaks didn't care about shit like that, and while she might have considered it sacrilege, it was clear the place was loved and well cared for.
There was a row of shot glasses on a table next to the door, and everyone, as they entered, picked one up. Mouse hesitated, but Nitro handed her one. “For the toast, Mouse.” Then waited in silence for their president to speak.
The president stood in the centre of the room. “We're here to honour the memory of our brother, Tiny Taylor. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, and he never graced these shores, but I doubt there's a patch anywhere who doesn't know his name. He was a true Freak, and will always be remembered for his loyalty, and as a man who was prepared to go the extra mile for his brothers. Tiny was a man who, as Freaks, we should all aspire to be. A man who truly understood the meaning of the word brotherhood. A man who never shrank from what needed to be done. He was also a family man, and leaves behind a wife and four young kids. There's a jar on the bar for donations, and I expect it to be full by the end of the night. Now, raise your glasses.” He lifted his own glass. “To Tiny. Ride safe, brother, and give 'em hell.”
Nitro had said that he was the only one who knew Tiny, and he was the only one who seemed sad at his brother's death. Mouse put her empty glass on a table, and slipped her hand into his. “Was he a friend of yours?”
He shook his head. “Not really. We were patched into the same chapter for a while, but he wasn't the kind of guy who got close to people, an' if I'm honest, most people—even his brothers—were kinda scared of him. He was a good guy, though, an' a great dad. I didn't see much of his family, but I saw enough to know that when he was with his kids, he was like a different man.” He took a deep breath. “He's gonna leave a big hole in their lives.”
She didn't know how the man had died, and she was too afraid to ask, but if, as she suspected, he'd died for the club, she couldn't see how he could possibly have been a good father. As if he'd read her mind, Nitro squeezed her hand. “Most of us ain't like Tiny, punk. He was the exception rather than the rule. He was a nomad for a lot of years, an' those fuckers are a breed apart.”
“Nomad?”
“They're kinda like you. Don't have anywhere they really call home.” He laughed. “When I got my top rocker, I kinda thought it'd be cool to live on the road. Nomads are welcome everywhere, an' always seemed to get the best pussy, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have what it takes. Reckon you need to have more than a little crazy, to do that. Most only last a couple of years 'fore they settle down, but for a few, it becomes their whole life. They're the craziest of all.” Nitro pulled out his wallet and dropped a couple of twenty pound notes into the jar. “Tiny settled down for his family, an' he loved his ol' lady an' his kids. But I reckon if he'd been asked, he'd've hit the road again without a second thought. Reckon nomads like him are born, not made.”
Mouse had a whole lot of questions that, until now, she hadn't thought to ask, but Biff had opened the doors to non-members, and the place was rapidly filling up, so now wasn't the time. Nitro kissed her forehead and pulled her a little closer as the group of women from the pub came in. “It's gonna get a little crowded. How about we get ourselves a drink and find somewhere to sit.”
She would have preferred to leave, but Mouse nodded and allowed him to lead her to a table in the corner. They had only been sitting for a few seconds when they were joined by Jojo and her massive husband. What was it with these enormous Freaks? This guy was even bigger than Biff.
Nitro grinned. “Leo, man. You should lay off the 'roids. You're gonna burst.”
Leo rolled his eyes and gave him the finger, before turning his attention to Mouse. “You do know he's a twat, right?”
“Only sometimes, brother.” Nitro squeezed her hand. “And hardly ever with her.”
Jojo laughed. “Aw, Nitro. Are you in love?”
Mouse could feel a blush creeping up her throat, as Nitro grinned. “Yup.”
“Josie tells me you live in a commune, is that right?” Jojo tilted her head. “You don't look like a hippie.”
“Mouse is an Anarchist an' a traveller. She lived in a van until some assholes smashed it up.” Okay, so she didn't get to speak for herself. She took a sip of her pissy lager as Nitro continued. “She's staying in a commune for now, until she moves in with me.”
“Do you have a job?”
“No.”
“So what do you do for money. You on the dole?”
Fucking hell, were these people always this nosey? “Mostly I can manage without money. I work for my keep, and if I really need cash, I busk.”
“Really? Do you earn much doing that?” Jojo wasn't prepared to quit interrogating her just yet.
Mouse pretended not to notice Nitro's look of surprise. He'd never asked her how she earned, and she hadn't been inclined to tell him. “I can, if I'm in the right place.”
“When you say busk...”
“I s
ing.”
“You any good?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “I am.”
Jojo smirked. “So, sing something.”
Why did people do that? If she'd said she was a surgeon, no one would ask her to operate right there in the club, but for some reason, every time she told people she could sing, she was expected to prove it. Nitro leaned forward, and she rested her hand on his thigh. “I'll sing if everyone here puts a fiver in that jar.”
“Mouse...”
“It's okay, Nitro. No one will be shortchanged. I really can sing.”
Leo laughed, got to his feet and banged his glass on the table. “Listen up. Mouse, here, will give us a song if we all put a fiver in the jar.” He nodded to Biff who took the jar from the bar and began to walk around the room collecting donations. “She assures me that it'll be worth it. And it's all in a good cause.”
“Will she strip for a tenner?”
Mouse didn't see who'd spoken, but Nitro scowled and turned to the guy wearing the Vice President patch. “No she fucking won’t.” He turned back to Mouse. “You sure about this? It's a tough crowd.”
“Trust me, biker boy. I know what I'm doing.” She kissed him, and stood up. “Can you shut everyone up, Leo?”
“It'll be my pleasure.” Leo lifted her onto a nearby table. “Oi, you lot. Shut the fuck up. The lady's gonna sing.”
~oOo~
Holy shit! She really could sing. Nitro swallowed a lump that had lodged inexorably in his throat. His little Anarchist had the voice of a fucking angel.
He'd been pissed when she'd offered to sing, and scared she was going to make a fool out of herself—and by extension, him—but it was as though the entire room was holding its breath, as her voice, as clear as a bell, filled the room. She had guts, too; to sing “Amazing Grace,” unaccompanied, was a brave choice. But she was pitch perfect, not a single note was dropped, and right at that moment, he was sure she held every single person in the palm of her hand.
And then she was done. For a moment there was a stunned silence, before the room erupted and he was pushed aside as Leo lifted her off the table and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Fuck me. You weren't lying. That's hell of a voice you've got there, kiddo.”
Mouse laughed. “Thanks.” She wiggled out of the big man's embrace and picked up her beer. “It's been a while since I've done that. I thought I might be a bit rusty.”
For the first time in his life, Nitro had no idea what to say. He was proud of her, but... Fuck. She'd just stood on a table in front of his brothers and... fuck... completely blown them away, and he really didn't know how he felt about that.
Mouse frowned. “Nitro?”
“I...” He ran his hand across his head. “I'm going for a smoke.”
The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and the only thing illuminating the terrace was the light from the clubhouse. Nitro took a plastic chair from the stack against the wall and began to roll a joint.
“Nitro?” Mouse stepped tentatively through the French doors. “Have I pissed you off?”
She had, but Nitro was acutely aware that if he tried to explain how he was feeling, he was going to sound like a dick. Unsure what he should say, he opted to say nothing, and continued with his task.
Mouse sighed. “I fucked up, didn't I.” She took a chair and placed it close to his. “I'm not sure how. I was asked to sing, so I did. And I reckon there has to be at least a couple of hundred quid in that jar. What exactly did I do wrong, Nitro?”
“You...” He lit his joint and fell silent again. There was no way she'd accept that he'd wanted her to be the perfect ol' lady. To fade quietly into the background while he spent time with his brothers. To speak when she was spoken to. To be invisible unless she was on his arm. “You didn't do anything wrong, Mouse.”
“Clearly I did.”
He concentrated on the ground between his feet. “You shoulda asked me first.”
He'd half expected her to start yelling, but she just sighed. “I've been singing for my supper since I was a kid. I'm not clever or beautiful, but I can sing, and it's the only way I can shine. I'm sorry that I humiliated you in some way. I didn't want to do that, and I thought you wouldn't mind. I thought you might even be proud of me. Well, now I know. In future I'll just keep my mouth closed, and let you do all the talking.” She gave a short, bitter-sounding laugh. “If you'd just wanted something to hang off your arm, you should have stuck with that girl who was pushing up on you. She obviously fits in way better than I ever will.”
She couldn't be more wrong. Nitro passed her the joint, and shook his head. “I know you think I'm being a douche, and I guess I agree with you. This is my issue, Mouse, not yours. Ever since I got here, I've kinda been struggling to find my place. There'll never be an officer's flash on my chest, I'm cool with that, an' I'm not exactly enforcer material. But back home, I had a role to play. I've always been good with people, I guess, so it was me who'd run the stalls at rallies, or act as spokesman for the club. I had my own tattoo place that was doing real well, an' making good money for me an' the club.” He had other talents, too, but they weren't something he could share with her—not yet anyway. He shrugged. “Here, I'm just the joker who couldn't rein in his crazy ex wife. I guess I thought...”
“You thought having an obedient little woman would raise your status.”
“No, not really. Shit, I dunno. Maybe.” He took her hand. “I don't want you to be anything other than what you are. You're my fierce little Anarchist, an' I swear on my Harley that there's not one thing I'd change about you.”
“And yet here we are.” She still didn't sound angry. “I'm trying to understand, Nitro, because I don't want crap like this to be what drives us apart. Do you really think that me getting up on that table and singing a song will alter your brothers' opinion of you?”
“Probably not. But it will confirm to some that I can't keep my ol' lady in check. An here in the clubhouse, that is kinda important.”
~oOo~
Mouse stared at her small hand enveloped in his. She wasn't angry, even though she knew she had every right to be, but she understood Nitro more than he thought. Deep inside that cocky arsehole was a scared, lonely little boy, who'd been ripped from his home and dropped in a strange country, and a teenage amputee, who believed he'd never have a normal life and was desperately looking for somewhere he'd fit in.
He wasn't like his brothers; that had been apparent from the first time she'd seen them. He had a gentle side that they lacked, and she knew that their tough-looking old ladies hid a vulnerability that came from living with someone they were ever so slightly afraid of.
Nitro might have been a player, and he didn't always take life seriously, but, just like her, he'd been shaped by his childhood, and needed the love and support of his chosen family. She took a long pull on the joint and passed it back to him. “You're lucky I love you, cos if I didn't, I'd be kicking off so hard right now.”
“I love you too, punk.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Sorry for being a dick.”
What she'd really love, right now, would be to jump on his bike and go home—wherever that may be—but, even though she knew he'd happily do as she asked, as soon as he'd killed the joint, she followed him back inside, determined to play the good old lady, for his sake.
Already, several people were getting ready to leave; Nitro had been right; this wasn't a party, and most would have to be up for work in the morning. As soon as they got to the bar, a young lad wearing a prospect patch grabbed two bottles of Bud from the fridge. Mouse shook her head. “Can I have a Coke? ”
“Course you can.” Nitro threw his arm over her shoulders. “You heard the lady, prospect. Get her a Coke.”
The guy wearing the VP patch wandered over and slapped Nitro on the back. “She do any other tricks, brother?”
Nitro stiffened and put himself between her and the Vice President. “Must be tough for you, seeing me with a smart, talented ol' lady, when all you can manag
e is a few used up ol' whores. Cheer up, brother, I'm sure they were kidding when they said they were faking it with you.”
Wow, low blow, Nitro. Mouse tugged discreetly on his belt loop. She really didn't want him fighting over some pathetic comment. To her relief, he turned and grinned. “It's cool, Mouse. Carter here likes to think he's the club Lothario.”
She raised an eyebrow. “When everyone knows that's you, right?”
He lifted her chin, and brushed his lips against hers. “Got all the woman I need right here. I'm ready to hand over my crown.”
There was a bunch of girls at the far end of the bar; Mouse hadn't paid them much attention until the one who'd accosted Nitro split from the group and ran her black talons down Carter's arm. “Hey, lover.” She may have been addressing the VP, but her eyes never left Nitro. “Feeling lonely?”
Carter's only response was to absently fondle her arse, and Nitro didn't seem to notice her at all. Mouse couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the girl. She was pretty enough, and she had a great body, but everything about her, from the hairpiece to the ink, piercings and barely-there clothes screamed “look at me!” Yet no one seemed to notice her at all. Maybe it was because her friends all looked similar—although she was, by far, the prettiest—or maybe she'd been hanging around for so long that she'd become part of the furniture. Whatever the reason, Mouse was sure if she'd stripped right there in front of them, they still wouldn't have acknowledged her. She met the girl's eye, and smiled, but only got a scowl in return. “You cost me a fiver.”
Unsure how to respond to that, Mouse shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No one was twisting your arm, sweetheart. You could've always fucked off downstairs.” Carter pushed her away and turned back to face the bar. “Wasn't as if you were invited, and the money was for a good cause.” He grinned at Mouse. “We should offer you a regular slot. You ever sing with a band?”
“I have, but not recently. Mostly it's just me and a flautist when we're busking.”
“Do you do anything other than classical stuff?”
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